Chapter 4 - THE CLEANUP AND THE CROWNThe sight was recorded by three hidden staff phones and circulated through Grayhaven’s underground network within forty-five minutes.
Miranda Kensington—the proudest, meanest heiress in the city—was kneeling on the dirty floor of the Marlowe Grand’s ballroom, wearing a ten-thousand-dollar gown, sobbing as she used a dustpan and a black plastic trash bag to sweep up the broken cabernet bottle.
Standing ten feet away was Lucy, the nineteen-year-old banquet worker whose mother had just undergone heart surgery.
"Keep sweeping, Miss Kensington," Lucy said quietly, holding a clipboard, her confidence restored by the presence of two heavy Valenti guards standing near the doors. "You missed a piece of glass under Table Six."
Downstairs in the executive lounge, Brielle sat on a leather sofa, sipping hot tea while a private lawyer presented her with a stack of legal documents.
"Sign here, Donnessa Dawson," the lawyer said respectfully, holding out a Montblanc pen. "This transfers the full operating deed of the Marlowe Grand Hotel into your personal name. You are now the sole owner."
Brielle looked at Nico, who was sitting beside her, his arm stretched lazily across the top of the sofa behind her shoulders.
"Nico... this is insane," Brielle whispered, holding the pen over the paper. "A hundred million dollars? I don't know how to run a luxury hotel!"
"You've worked in this hotel for six years, Brielle," Nico said softly, his thumb caressing the bare skin of her shoulder. "You know every flaw, every crooked manager, and every hard-working employee who gets ignored by management. You know how to run this place better than any empty suit in a corner office."
Brielle looked down at the paper. She thought of Daniel Mercer ripping off her name badge. She thought of how the management treated workers who called in sick or needed medical aid.
She pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name in strong, elegant cursive: Brielle Dawson-Valenti.
"Done," the lawyer smiled, bowing his head. "Congratulations, Madam Chairwoman."
As the lawyer left the lounge, Marco entered, holding a silver tray with a glowing satellite phone.
"Don Valenti," Marco said, his face tight. "It's Don Salvatore Lucchese from the Chicago Commission. He heard about the scene at the Marlowe."
Nico’s eyes darkened slightly. He took the phone and placed it on speaker.
"Nico," a raspy, elderly voice boomed from the speaker. "What is this nonsense I am hearing from Grayhaven? You bought a hotel for a servant girl? You gave the Valenti Signet Ring to a commoner with no bloodline?!"
Brielle’s heart sank slightly. The old mob bosses were already rising against her.
Nico didn't flinch. He leaned forward, his voice turning into liquid steel.
"Salvatore," Nico said smoothly. "Speak about my wife with disrespect again, and I will pull my investment from your Chicago shipping lines before sunrise."
A sharp intake of breath came from the phone.
"She is my Donnessa," Nico declared firmly. "She carries my authority. If the Commission has a problem with her bloodline, they can bring their soldiers to Grayhaven and tell me to my face."
He clicked the end button on the phone without waiting for a response and tossed it to Marco.
"Clear my schedule for the rest of the night," Nico ordered Marco. "I am taking my wife home."
May you like
Nico turned to Brielle, reaching out to slide his fingers through hers, his eyes burning with a dark, intense hunger that made her pulse race.
"Now, dolcezza," Nico whispered, pulling her up into his arms. "Let me show you your new palace."
